


Butterfield Books

by triflewordscore



Category: Brian Butterfield - Peter Serafinowicz, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triflewordscore/pseuds/triflewordscore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man pulled a pair of pince-nez out from his trouser pocket and placed it on his nose with a flourish.</p><p>"I am a valuable book purchaser," he said, "I hope that as a fellow old book professional you understand how much I would appreciate a private screening of your collection."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfield Books

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the December 2014 BBC Radio 4 adaptation, and supposed to be in that universe.
> 
> Essentially an extended casting joke. Crowley was voiced by Peter Serafinowicz, and I recently discovered that (his character) Brian Butterfield was on Radio 6 in 2012, where he mentioned a liking for tartan.
> 
> I can't handle spelling out the accent.

The shop door bell rang. Aziraphale ruffled his wings.

After returning them to where they were not sprouting from his back, he pushed the back room door ajar.

"The sign on the door says 'closed'."

"Sorry," a voice said, "I believed it was defective."

Aziraphale peeked through the gap. "Defective?"

"When I opened it, it still said 'closed'. And it doesn't say 'open' on the reverse. May I recommend Brian Butterfield's Door Status-Teller?"

A rotund, grey-haired man with a moustache stood between shelves. He ran a finger along a row of spines, and wiped the resulting thimble of dust onto his grey suit jacket. The colour blended in politely.

Aziraphale sighed and stepped out of the back room. The day he forgets to lock the door, the only human within a five-mile radius who isn't uninterested, scared, or discouraged enough to try entering drops by, he thought.

"Sir, my shop is closed. You may exit by the same door."

"Please let me explain."

The man pulled a pair of pince-nez out from his trouser pocket and placed it on his nose with a flourish.

"I am a valuable book purchaser," he said, "I hope that as a fellow old book professional you understand how much I would appreciate a private screening of your collection."

The man's pince-nez slipped at an increasing rate, much like Aziraphale's patience.

"That...won't be possible," said Aziraphale, "I think you should know we're not in the same line of business."

The man's eyes widened, then narrowed. He removed the pince-nez. "You're a sharp one...uh, Mr, uh..."

"Ezra Fell," Aziraphale muttered.

"Mr Azira Phale!" the man said triumphantly.

He began pacing. "My disguise was no match for you. I am Brian Butterfield, businessman, entrepreneur, founder of Butterfield Detective Agency, Butterfield Direct, Poundfield..."

"How nice," said Aziraphale, willing him to walk out of the shop, "You're a very busy man. Perhaps you need to be somewhere else instead of here."

Mr Butterfield ambled towards the shop door.

"...Brian Butterfield's Sleep Therapy, Brian Butterfield's Sports Warehouse, the Butterfield International Hotel..."

He ambled back.

"...and now, Butterfield Books!"

Aziraphale's eyes glazed over. Mr Butterfield frowned.

"Sorry. I was merely doing some market research."

"My dear sir, there isn't much business going on here, because the shop is closed. Besides, are crusty old book professionals the market you want? An energetic young man like you should focus on other businesses. In other places."

"You're very humble, Mr Phel, but you are a successful entrepreneur. Why, you even dress the part," Mr Butterfield said, gesturing at Aziraphale's tartan bowtie.

"Then I suppose," Aziraphale lowered his voice, "You would like some advice, from one entrepreneur to another?"

"Of course," stage-whispered Mr Butterfield.

"Vintage car repair," Aziraphale said, leading him towards the shop door, "Look into it. But hurry, the window of opportunity could close very soon. I suggest you start today."

Mr Butterfield gave him a solemn wink. Aziraphale held the door open.

"Thank you, Mr Phel," Mr Butterfield said, "May I give you something in return? One entrepreneur to another."

"Some parting words? Before you leave? Of course," said Aziraphale, opening the door wider.

Mr Butterfield took a tattered notebook from inside his jacket and held it out to Aziraphale with both hands.

"Brian Butterfield's How To Be Successful In Entrepreneurship With Not Too Much Effort," he said, "First edition. Signed by the author."

"Thank you, Mr Butterfield. I'm sure it will very sought after by valuable book purchasers," said Aziraphale, "Now off you go to find those vintage cars."

Mr Butterfield slipped out of the shop. Aziraphale rammed the door shut with his shoulder, and locked it.


End file.
